


Marlowe Had It Easy

by chantelle82



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Slow Build, older brother AU, private detective AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantelle82/pseuds/chantelle82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Argent & Hale Detective Agency has a new hire:  Stiles Stilinski.  Now, Derek Hale has to handle his little brother Scott, his business partner Chris and grumpy computer hacker Jackson while trying to figure out how to fit the new guy into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Changes from canon:
> 
> Scott and Derek are brothers  
> Stiles is the only one from Beacon Hills  
> Chris and Allison are not father and daughter  
> Scott and Stiles are 22-years-old  
> Derek, Jackson and Danny are 28-years-old

 

[ ](http://s1246.photobucket.com/albums/gg603/chantellesterek82/?action=view&current=marlowepic_zps759d354b.png)

**Chapter 1**  
  
Fucking traffic.  
  
Even though Derek had lived his whole life in Los Angeles, he had never acclimatized to the long, grinding hell known as his morning commute.  The Camaro may not have been the most practical model for the job, but it definitely made the ride and the waiting more comfortable.  
  
Derek had been dreading this day for nearly two weeks.  Dreading it so much in fact that he had uncharacteristically made a quick stop to buy donuts for everybody at the office...just to cover up how _not_ okay he was with today.  
  
Chris had suddenly felt that it was time to hire someone else to work at the agency.  Someone named fucking _Stiles Stilinski_.  What a name.  He hadn't met the guy yet, as Derek had completely washed his hands of the whole hiring process.  If Chris wanted someone, he could do the fucking work.  
  
Derek cursed his business partner again for making him feel like this.  It was Chris' fault that the tentative normalcy that had been building for the last few months felt like it was being ripped away…yet again.  
  
'Comfortable' and 'familiar' were two things that Derek constantly reached for and which life assuredly continued to rip away from him.  Derek squeezed the leather of the steering wheel as he felt betrayed by his brain for deciding to use his morning drive to be so maudlin.  The past was something that he tried to not think about, especially in public.  
  
He had been living comfortably… eight years old…and his mom gets killed during a random home invasion.  
  
Again living comfortably…now a little more cynical twenty year old…and then dad gets killed…mugged on his way to buy coffee on a stakeout.  
  
Comfort had proved more elusive after that.  But he and his little brother Scott had survived.  Scott finding comfort in the routine of school, Derek in the routine of helping to run a private detective agency.  
  
And then one year ago…  
  
Derek's two main memories of that time couldn't have been more different.  
  
The first one:  Happiness practically exploding out of Scott as he told his big brother that he was finally going to propose to Allison.  
  
And the second one:  Being led by a policeman through Scott and Allison's small apartment…being told that he had to get Scott to move.  Standing at the doorway of the tiny bathroom; the tub thankfully blocked by a blue curtain with Scott sitting on shards of broken glass staring at nothing.  
  
Derek shook his head, trying to get the image out.  Fucking Chris and his need for change.  
  
Sure…it was nothing as catastrophic as the loss of a loved one, but he, Chris, Jackson and the addition of Scott at the agency had been creating a pretty comfortable and familiar environment.  
  
But now, today was D-day.  
  
As Derek pulled in to park behind an old blue jeep, he took a deep breath and picked up the box of now slightly oily donuts.  He had promised Scott that he'd at least try to be nice to the new guy.    
  
Hell, Stiles might end up being a great guy…but he was _new_.  And Derek hadn't had anyone new come into his life, with the possibility of it being not-so-temporary, since Jackson had started working for his dad and Chris nine years ago.  There had also been the possibility of Allison…  
  
"Fuck, I'm reaching Howard Hughes hermit territory,"  Derek muttered to himself as he pushed shut the heavy door of the Camaro.  He crossed the road, spotting Danny through the bar windows, restocking something under the counter.  
  
Familiar.  
  
Derek walked the same route he took everyday.  Through the well-worn shared entrance and up the single flight of '70s brown-lacquered stairs.  Making a sharp turn right and walking down the hall to the front doors of Argent  & Hale.  
  
Argent & Hale…the place he had idolized since he had watched Humphrey Bogart in 'The Maltese Falcon' and thought that was what his dad and Chris were doing everyday behind those doors.  Adventure, intrigue, the search for treasure and strange tips from shady characters.  
  
Well, his nine-year-old brain had gotten the shady characters right.  But it had omitted the absolute shit-ton of paperwork required to keep a PI agency running smoothly.  
  
As Derek entered the doors, he took note of the dark green jacket hanging on the coat rack to the left.  Must be the new guy's.  Another change he had to get used to.  
  
He took a deep breath and walked straight ahead to Chris' office for the regular Monday morning meeting to discuss the schedule for the next week.  Derek spared a glance to the left where he could hear voices in Scott's office.  
  
Well, Scott and _Stiles'_ office now.  
  
Derek had suggested the new guy just take the unused secretary's desk out front, which usually housed the mail and a Bonsai tree that had been Danny's attempt at livening up the office.  
  
But Scott had insisted that Stiles share with him, saying something about helping him to settle into the place.  Derek hadn't really been paying attention, but he agreed, hoping it was a sign that Scott was ready to make some new friends.  
  
Like Derek could judge friend-making abilities.  But Scott had always been the more social of the two of them, and since Allison's death he had cut himself off from all of his old friends.  It made Derek angry to think of the pain that Scott must be feeling to have it completely change that part of his personality.  Life hated the Hales.  
  
"New guy screwed up yet?"  Derek asked as he dropped the box of donuts on top of the paperwork that Chris was shuffling around.  
  
"Well, he was on time.  So, he's already ahead of…others,"  Chris said pointedly as he watched Derek flop down on the sofa.  
  
"Don't start with that.  I didn't get home 'til fucking three this morning.  That Peterson guy may look like a piece of piss, but he must have the stamina of a goddamn bull."   Derek twisted around so he could lie down on the couch.  Chris opened the donut box and picked out a jam and cream one.  
  
"Did you get what you needed?"  Chris spoke with his mouth full.  
  
"I thought so.  I mean I got proof he's obviously doing the dirty with someone not Mrs. Peterson.  But, she's one stealthy lady 'cause I never saw her leave, and I waited for two hours after Peterson left…"  
  
Derek was interrupted by an expletive from Chris.  He raised he head slightly to see Chris trying to wipe cream off a form.  
  
"…Anyway, I'll give the wife a call and see what she wants to do next."  Chris nodded at Derek's words and pushed the box of donuts in his direction.  
  
"Now, go and meet Stiles.  Offer him a donut.  Scott's showing him how to access client records on the computer."  
  
"Stiles?"  Derek said as he slowly made his way back to a vertical position and rubbed his eyes.  
  
"That's his name, idiot.  Now pretend you have a social bone in that lump of a body and make a friend."  Derek grimaced.  
  
"I don't need another friend."  
  
"No, son.  What you don't need is the emergence of my wrathful side.  And I will get all wrath-y up in your face if you act like a dick."  
  
"What if I like being a dick?"  Derek responded childishly.  
  
"Derek, Stiles seems to be a good guy…"  and then Chris went for the cheap shot, "…and Scott seems to like him.  I've heard that kid laugh out loud at least three times this morning.  When was the last time you could say that?"  Derek's face softened, but there was still a playful glint in his eyes.  
  
"You're a manipulative bastard, you know that?"  
  
"You've called me worse,"  Chris replied affectionately as Derek picked up the donuts.  "Now go see if you can prove me wrong and de-asshole-ify yourself for one morning."  
  
"Fuck you, Chris.  Why don't you take this time to de-old-fart-ify yourself?"  Derek replied as he turned to walk out of the office.  
  
"Maybe meeting new people will help you find better comebacks, son.  I'm disappointed."  
  
"Fuck you," Derek mumbled as he walked out.  
  
"Disappointed and ashamed!"  Chris called out laughingly to Derek's retreating back.  
  
********  
  
"And if you see that symbol, it means I haven't put the case info into the system yet…"  Derek heard Scott explain as he entered the office.  "…You probably won't have to worry about that 'cause I've gotten all the actives and recents in there.  I'm now working on the older ones."  
  
    "Yeah, it's been a son of a bitch dragging Chris into the 21st century," Derek said as he dropped the donuts on Scott's desk and fixed his gaze on the new guy.  "Jackson and I have been trying for years…nothing.  This one bats his eyelashes and it's all systems go.  Unbelievable."  
  
    Derek takes stock of the new guy in front of him.  
  
    The dude looked pretty laid back.  In profile, Derek supposed Stiles was _maybe_ popular with the girls…all smooth skin and moles.  But then he turned and faced Derek and… _fuck_.  
  
    Those eyes coupled with the intense stare and.. _fuck_ again.  Derek wasn't sure which side of creepy it landed, but that evaluating stare freaked out somebody not used to being paid such close attention.  
  
    Derek honestly didn't know how long he'd been staring at Stiles, but he thinks at some point it became a competition because the new guy wasn't looking away either.  
  
    "Geez, Derek…rude much?  Stiles, this is my brother.  I'd say don't judge him on your first impression, but I fear that this may be as personable as he gets,"  Scott said.  Stiles squinted his eyes a little while Derek gave his brother a _manly_ bitchface.  
  
    "Hey, Derek,"  Stiles spoke as he stood to shake his hand.  The guy had a firm handshake, whatever that meant.  Derek couldn't help notice he also had impossibly long fingers… _damn_.  
  
    "Hi.  I brought donuts," Derek gestured to the sad looking box, then decided to snatch one out before continuing.  "First day deal only.  So don't get used to it.  However, if _you_ wanna take the initiative…" he finished around a mouthful of donut.  
  
    "Okay?"  Stiles answered uncertainly, glancing at Scott and back to Derek.  Shit…this guy definitely gave off an awkward vibe.  
  
    "Anyway, I assume Chris gave you the 'nothing but office work for the first week' spiel…"  Derek waited for Stiles to nod, "…so, if you don't prove to be a colossal fuck-up, I'll probably take you out on a simple cheating spouse case next week."  Derek wiped the remnants of donut off of his chin as Scott rolled his eyes.  
  
    "How do I prevent my 'inevitable' fuck-up from being colossal?"  Stiles asked while Scott guffawed in the corner.  
  
    "Are you shitting me?  Just do everything I say and do it properly."  Derek watched the guy seemingly nod in agreement.  Then Stiles turned to Scott.  
  
    "I take it that this is what you meant by 'control issues'?"  Stiles deadpanned.  
  
    Derek was taken aback, while Scott threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh.  He noted the mischievous glint in Stiles' eyes.  Interesting.  
  
    "Good, you've got some backbone.  Now I hope you've got a damn brain in there as well."  
  
    "Anatomically, that would be…"  Derek raised his hand to interrupt Stiles.  
  
    "Okay, okay.  Enough with the smartass routine…this is me getting-to-know-you time."  
  
    Derek noticed Scott's 'tone it down' look, but Stiles seemed to take it in stride…if the amused look on his face was anything to go by.  
  
    "Okay."  
  
    "Despite my brother's insistence that I'm a hardass…I'm not," Derek pointedly ignored Scott's snort and continued.  "I'm all for 'fun at work' as long as you remember it is work.  Mistakes can cost us money, clients and the reputation we've built up."  Stiles stared at Derek as he considered his words.  
  
    "This is important to you,"  Stiles stated seriously.  
  
    Derek didn't know what to make of the guy.  One minute he was awkward, then sarcastic and then giving him looks which seemed to see all of the things that Derek didn't _want_ seen.  But there was also an intelligence in those eyes that he really appreciated.  
  
    "Yes.  So I repeat…don't fuck up.  I'm not gonna be an asshole about it.  You have a question, come to me, Scott, Chris or Jackson.  We're not gonna throw you in the deep end.  We'll walk you through everything, but you're expected to pay attention…and don't pretend to understand something if you don't," Derek finished his speech, leaned back in his chair and watched Stiles.  He really had to stop staring at the guy, but his eyes…geez, maybe this was what Scott meant by 'Rasputin eyes'…all hypnotic and shit.  
  
    "Okay."  
  
    "More than one word answers are encouraged, dude.  So…what did you do before deciding to join us in the illustrious world of private detection?"  
  
    "I…uh…worked in my hometown's sheriff department.  My dad's the…uh…sheriff."  Derek and Scott shot each other a 'that was definitely a shifty answer, right?' look.  
  
    "So, you worked with your dad then?"  Scott asked.  
  
    "Not really…I was more of a file research guy,"  Stiles answered, seemingly aware that the other guys knew he was being evasive.  
  
    Well, Derek wasn't going to hold it against the guy if he didn't like to talk about the past.  Stiles seemed intelligent and serious enough about the job, and Chris wouldn't have hired someone without an extensive background check.  
  
    "Okay, then," Derek said as he stood up and pushed the office chair back in.  "One more thing…Just because you two are in here sharing an office doesn't mean you are going to be having any fucking 'secret squirrel' discussions about the more talented, smarter and handsomer Hale brother."  Derek couldn't keep the slight smile out of his voice.  
  
    "And that's the 'insecurity issues' right?  You were remarkably astute in your description, dude," Stiles said to Scott while he continued to stare at Derek.  Scott lost it again as Derek's bitchface slipped from manly to childish.  
  
    "I'm taking back my donuts,"  Derek said as he snatched the oily box up.  "I've got to go and ring a client…you know…earn money.  So, Scott can introduce you to Jackson and then we'll go from there.  Take the time to decide who can make your time here _harder_ ," Derek said as he walked out to see Chris standing in the doorway of his office, looking amused.  
  
    "So, what do you think?"  
  
    "He's got a fucking mouth on him…" Derek answered loudly enough so Heckle and Jeckle in the other office could hear him, "…and Scott's a prick."  
  
    Derek ignored Chris' laughter and stalked into his office.  Someone had to do some work around here.  
  
********  
  
    "Yes, Mrs.  Peterson.  Of course you want to know who it is,"  Derek spoke into the phone.  "Is Sunday night definitely the only time you've noticed a change in your husband's routine?"  
      
    "Yes," she replied.  "But, I am paying _you_ to find out what's going on.  I've told you everything already and I don't appreciate having to repeat myself."  
  
    "Of course not, Mrs. Peterson.  I'll update you when I find out more," Derek said over-politely.  
  
    "No, you'll update me when you have a picture of the money-grubbing husband-stealing whore!"  Mrs. Peterson exclaimed as she ended the call.  
  
    Derek slowly put the receiver down and took a deep breath.  He'd gotten used to clients treating him like shit over the years.  As soon as money changed hands, some clients felt that they weren't just paying for a service; they were paying for a whipping boy as well.  Derek may have gotten used to it, but sometimes if he didn't take a moment, an innocent pencil may have to pay the price.  
  
    The moment passed and Derek stood up.  It was time to tag in Jackson.  If he didn't want to run his ass ragged, Rockford-style, he'd have to look more deeply into Peterson's financials.  Jackson had already run his preliminary 'Sesame Street' search and found errant gas receipts in an area Peterson hadn't previously frequented.    
  
    Information like that had made it a hell of a lot easier to follow the guy to the motel.  No matter what cop shows portrayed, Derek could attest to the fact that it could be a son of a bitch trying to tail somebody in LA traffic, even on a Sunday.  But, now he'd reached a dead end and Jackson was up to bat.  
  
    As he walked into the front office, Derek noted that Scott's (and Stiles') office was empty.  They must still be with Jackson then.  
  
    He headed straight up the hallway that ran between Chris' office and Scott's, to the door at the end that led to Jackson's apartment.  
  
    A few years after Jackson had started at the agency, he had moved into the small apartment above Danny's bar right next door.  When his Dad and Chris had realized how invaluable Jackson's skills were, and how much happier and more productive he was when he didn't have to see 'stupid' clients, Danny had agreed to knocking a hole between the two spaces to join them.  
  
    This also allowed Jackson to take side jobs without feeling guilty about using agency resources.  He hated most people, but apparently Jackson had a strict 'code of honour'.  
  
    Derek pushed open the door without knocking and spotted Scott sitting on the kitchen counter drinking a can of root beer.  
  
    "Did you get in touch with that client?"  Scott asked as he took another sip.  
  
    "Yeah, it'll be another Sunday stakeout for me.  I'm fucking ecstatic…What's going on over there?"  Derek asked as he tilted his head toward the other side of the apartment where Jackson was set up to 'infiltrate the world'.  
  
    Stiles and Jackson were sitting close together in front of the centre screen.  Jackson was sitting a little straighter than usual as he explained something on the screen.  Stiles just seemed to stare at the guy in wonder.  
  
    "Yeah…that," Scott smiled.  "I think they've made a soul connection."  
  
    "A what?"  
  
    "I honestly have no idea.  I've never seen Jackson so…polite and…eager to please.  He actually made Stiles a cup of tea."  
      
    "Tea," Derek said as he looked around the small kitchen area.  If he could've bet on it, he would have been all in on the chance that the only leaves to be found in here were of the mary jane variety.  
  
    "I know," Scott answered, as if knowing what his brother had been thinking.  "Jackson started out in his usual asshole way explaining what he does and how, and Stiles just looked at him like he was the Second Coming or something.  Apparently, Jackson really responds to somebody showing him respect."  
  
    "No wonder he's a total fuck to all of us, then," Derek responds as he grabs himself a root beer and walks over to the apparently new best friends.    
  
    "Hey asshole, who knew you were such an easy date?" Derek says as he slaps Jackson on the shoulder and drops himself into one of the many computer chairs littered around the room.  
  
    "How the fuck would you have any basis of comparison, monk boy?"  Jackson retorted without looking away from the screen.  Derek glanced quickly at Stiles and frowned when he saw the amusement in the guy's eyes.  
  
    "I need a full profile on Peterson's financials, Sesame Street wasn't enough," Derek said as he took a mouthful of root beer.  
  
    "Sesame Street?" Stiles asked as he looked at Derek, before focusing on Jackson.  
  
    "That's Derek trying to be cute.  It's a little algorithm I came up with that compares the finances of a target over different periods of time.  Any changes in routine usually pop out,"  Jackson looked at Stiles expectantly.  
  
    "Right...'one of these things is not like the others'," Stiles turned to Derek with a huge smile on his face.  Scott snorted as Derek turned to look at the wall, willing the blush to stop rising in his cheeks.  
  
    "Yeah, Hale's attempt at cleverness," Jackson sniffed dismissively.  "It's a preliminary, slightly illegal, program that solves a large proportion of our cases.  Very little man-hours, big results.  But when it doesn't work, it means Derek's got to actually do some work and I've got to do a more in-depth search."  
  
    "And do you have a cute name for that?" Stiles asked.  
  
    "The Indiana Jones," Derek muttered, but couldn't help give a small smile as he saw the delight on Stiles' face.  He managed to put his stoic face back on before he turned to face his brother.  
  
    "Don't you have work to do?  I do not want the new guy to think it's okay to be a lazy fuck like my little brother,"  Derek said gruffly, but fondly.  Scott slid off the counter and gestured to Stiles to follow  him.  
  
    "Come on, Stiles.   We'll leave the old guys to talk about their glory days."  Stiles stood up and held his hand out to Jackson, who hesitated for a second before quickly shaking it.  
  
    Derek watched Stiles follow Scott back out into the main office before he slid his chair up next to the desk.  
  
    "Looks like Chris knew what he was doing with hiring the new guy.  Scott seems to really like him."  Derek couldn't help but smile at Jackson's words.  
  
    "You can talk…you were practically all over him.  What was that?  Some nice words and the great narcissistic hacker turns into a quivering mess."  
  
    "Fuck off.  Don't think we all didn't notice the way you blushed like an Edwardian lady.  Is it possible that Derek Hale's repressed libido is coming out to play?"  Derek knew that any response would start Jackson on a spiel of all the shortcomings of his social life.  
  
    "I need that info on Peterson before Sunday,"  Derek said as he went to stand up.  Jackson grinned at his obvious avoidance, but must have been bored enough of focusing on Derek to get back to work.  
  
    "I'm offended that you think it'll take me a week, but I do have a few side projects in the works so I should have it to you on Thursday."  
  
    "Great, now get back to work…unless you want to get started on the cucumber sandwiches for your next tea party with Stiles," Derek said as he headed back to the office.  
  
    "You're a real fucker, Hale.  Just you wait until the next time you try to use a credit card!"  Jackson called back.  
  
********  
  
 _Flashback_  
  
 _1 year before Stiles' first day_  
  
    Scott couldn't stop fidgeting.  His fingers restlessly moved the candles on the small table back and forth before sliding them back to their original setting.  He skimmed the thick envelope before placing his right hand on top of the velvet-covered black box.  Suddenly, the rattle of keys in the lock, which caused Scott to jump slightly and quickly pocket the ring box, broke the nervous silence.  
  
    "Scott?"  Allison placed her keys on the side-table and took in the sight before her.  Their small kitchen table had been decorated with a chequered tablecloth, candles and two empty white dinner plates.  
  
    Scott stood nervously beside it, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.  Allison's gaze shifted back to the table and to the thick white envelope that was on top.  
  
    "Baby…you got in?"  Scott gave a slight nod and then broke out a dazzling smile.  
  
    "You got in!"  Allison squealed as she launched herself into his open arms.  Scott spun her around once and placed her carefully back down.  
  
    "I'm so proud of you.  We're all so proud of you," Allison said as she caressed his cheek with her thumb.  
  
    "Are we going to celebrate with everybody at Danny's after dinner?"  Scott took a deep breath and cleared his throat.  
  
    "I was thinking that we should leave that for tomorrow night."  As Allison wrinkled her brow in confusion, Scott took a step back and dropped to one knee.  
  
    "Scott, what are you doing?"  
  
    "Now, I know I've sat through enough of your cheesy movies for this to be pretty obvious," Scott smiled as he gestured at this kneeling position.  
  
    "Idiot," Allison tearily breathed out as Scott pulled the ring box out of his pocket and opened it.  
  
    "Would you…" he began.  
  
    "Oh my god, that's your mother's ring.  I thought Derek…" Scott stopped her with a smile.  
  
    "Yeah, he said if I felt the need to 'voluntarily imprison' myself, I shouldn't have to pay for the punishment as well.  I guess it's his way of saying that you have 'the Derek Hale Seal of Approval'."  Allison snorted.  
  
    "Will you let me finish here?"  
  
    "Yes."  
  
    "Allison, will you…"  Scott was stopped by Allison clumsily pulling him to his feet and gently kissing the corner of his mouth.  
  
    "No, Scott…my answer is yes."  Scott huffed with exasperation and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
    "I had a plan, Allison.  A speech.  I had a really good, romantic, tear-jerking speech which I know was good because Derek said he felt like he had to vomit four times before I had finished it."  Allison rolled her eyes.  
  
    "Well, I didn't ever think my engagement story would include the word 'vomit'…" she gave Scott a smile as she continued, "…but I gave you my answer, and now I think you should put that ring on my finger and get to the celebrating."  She grabbed his hand that held the ring and caressed the back of it with her thumb.  
  
    "Celebrating?"  Scott asked with a sly grin.  
  
    "Get your mind off of my 'assets'…"  Scott briefly touching their lips together interrupted Allison, "…I'm talking about whatever that great smell is that's coming from the kitchen…and champagne.  Lots and lots of champagne."  Scott raised her hand to his lips.  
  
    "As you wish."  
  
    "Now, what do I have to do to get you to put that damn ring on my finger?"  Scott bellowed out a laugh and lifted the ring out of the box.  
  
    "You've done it already…just by being here…being you."  He gently placed the ring on her finger.  "Veterinary school wouldn't have happened with you, my life wouldn't have happened without you.  Not any life I could ever picture wanting, anyway."  A tear trickled down Allison's face as Scott leaned down and kissed her.  It was not a kiss of passion , but of promise.  They pulled apart enough to leave their foreheads touching.  
  
    "As much as I would like to get this party started straight away, "  Allison whispered,  "…I really think I need a shower first.  A dog peed on my leg at work and I think I can still smell it."  Scott chuckled.  
  
    "Wow, 'vomit' and now 'dog pee'.  Our kids are gonna think we're idiots."  At his words, Allison playfully slapped him on the arm.  "Luckily, they'll have their Uncle Derek for their baseline of idiocy.  We _have_ to come out on the good side of that comparison."  
  
    " _I_ have to…" Allison said as she pulled away, "…it'll be a toss-up for you.  Now, I'm going for a shower.  So that should give you time to get whatever you have in the kitchen ready…and, of course to secretly tell Derek my answer.  You know he's waiting to commiserate with you over it."  Scott smiled as he reached into his pocket for his phone.  With his other hand, he dragged Allison in for another kiss.  
  
    "I love you," Scott breathed out as they broke apart.  Allison turned to head towards the bathroom.  
  
    "Oh, I know," she laughed, "…I have proof."  She raised her left hand behind her back and wriggled her fingers before closing the door behind her.  
  
    Scott chuckled and headed towards the kitchen.   He texted Derek a single word:  _Yes_ , and then went to the fridge to get the champagne.  By the time that he had opened the bottle and poured out two glasses, he heard the chirp of his phone.  He picked it up and smiled.  
  
    Derek:  _She could do better_  
  
    Scott put his phone back down and went to check the oven.  Despite Derek's sarcastic attitude about the whole engagement plan, Scott knew how happy his big brother was for him.  Their mother's engagement ring had been left to Derek, but Derek had insisted that he give it to Allison.  And Scott had pretended not to notice the catch in Derek's voice and the watery eyes after they'd hugged.  Of course, Derek had covered it with the whole 'imprisonment' spiel, but Scott had seen it and it meant everything to him.  
  
    Scott shook himself out of his thoughts and noted that the chicken probably had another half an hour until it would be ready.  He looked at the clock and turned his gaze to the glasses of champagne with a smirk.  Scott was reminded of another comment of Derek's about engagement night sex and decided that it sounded like a good way to start their celebration.  He picked up the glasses in one hand and walked towards the bathroom.  
  
    "I think we should start this party early, babe," Scott said suggestively as he opened the door.  He walked in and pulled the dark blue shower curtain aside…and his world stopped.  He felt glass slip through his fingers and heard a faint shattering noise, but all he could focus on were Allison's eyes.  
  
    Allison's big beautiful eyes, which were fixed on some point on the ceiling as she laid at the bottom of the bathtub.  Water droplets trickled down and over her body, but it wasn't enough to wash away the blood.  Scott moaned and nausea hit him hard.  
  
    His eyes landed on the deep cut across her throat.  So deep that Scott couldn't make himself focus on it.  His eyes moved further down…to the knife.  The knife that was plunged deeply into what Scott figured was Allison's heart.  The heart that had loved him, accepted him, made him happy.  
  
    It was too much and slowly Scott sunk to the ground, only faintly feeling the broken glass cutting into him.  From this view, all he could see was her hand hanging over the edge of the tub.  The hand that he had held only moments before, that had caressed his cheek.  The hand that held the proof of his love, the promise of their future.  
  
    He sat frozen, staring at the gold gleam of his mother's engagement ring.  



	2. Chapter 2

            Derek looked around the office, tapping his pen on the scuffed wood of his desk.  Friday afternoons were often boring at the office, as Derek was forced to compile his weekly expenses.  Chris liked to work on the accounts Saturday morning and had drummed it in to everyone that he would resort to violence if their expense reports weren't on his desk by Friday evening.

            But this Friday afternoon was special - he had managed to get Jackson questioning his programming finesse.  After promising the Peterson information by Thursday, Jackson hadn't delivered.  Derek smirked as he remembered the sulky look on the hacker's face when he said he'd definitely have something by the end of work on Friday.

            Derek wasn't too worried if Jackson found anything or not, it just meant more stakeouts and interviews.  But having stumped the man who had once announced: 'Just give me 15 minutes.  That's all I need to erase your very existence,' …well, that just made Derek feel deliciously vindictive about the failure.

            Another occurrence that once had been rare, but was quickly becoming the norm, was the sound of his little brother's laughter ringing out in the office.  Derek let his pen roll off underneath his desk clock as he leaned back in his chair.

            Throughout the week, he had watched as the old-Scott started to re-emerge.  The Scott that would laugh freely and not look guilty afterward.  The Scott that asked questions about your life, not just because he felt he should, but because he was actually interested.

            Of course, Derek knew, one week was not enough time for Scott to be exactly the way he had been before Allison.  He was never going to be that person again.  But Derek had seen enough glimpses of old-Scott that the tight feeling of worry he carried around in his chest had eased a little.

            And all because of Stiles Stilinski.  Derek still couldn't get a read on the guy, but he definitely noticed the positive change he had brought to the office.  After the first day, Scott and Derek had agreed that any time Jackson was needed to talk through his process with a questioning client, Stiles would be the one to handle it.  While the guy was still not really bursting with sunshine and rainbows, Jackson would hold back on the 'How do you even function on a daily basis with your level of stupidity?' glare when Stiles was around.  Jackson treated the new guy like a big brother he was trying to impress, even though Stiles was younger by six years.

            The way that Derek felt about the new guy was a little more complex.  At any time of day his feelings would sway between frustration, fascination, annoyance and sexual attraction.  Derek frowned as he turned his chair to face the small window that looked out onto the fire escape across the alleyway.

            It was Stiles' stupid eyes, his stupid mouth…and those hands…his stupid hands.  Derek's own hand rubbed his eyes as he remembered the embarrassment of the first lunch at Danny's on Wednesday.  He had stared at Stiles for a good thirty seconds as he manhandled a large cheeseburger into submission, until he felt Scott kick him under the table.  And then there was the way he had used that straw…

            A loud thump and Scott's worried 'Are you okay, dude?’ had Derek walking out of his office and towards Scott and Stiles'.  He stood in the doorway and looked down to see Stiles sprawled on the floor with his office chair on his chest and a broom beside him.  Stiles looked up at him and grinned.

            "Heyyy, Derek."  He shifted his focus to Scott.  "Tell me I got him."  Scott shook his head.

            "Sorry, dude.  I think that spider deserves to live another day," he smiled.  Derek looked up to see the offending arachnid scuttling across the ceiling and slipping into the air vent.  He walked over to lift the computer chair up off of Stiles’ chest and placed it back in front of the desk.  Stiles jumped up, brushed himself off and turned enthusiastically to Scott.

            "I got close though, right?"  Scott shrugged his shoulders and Stiles turned around to Derek.  "There was a second there where it felt like it was just me and the spider in some kind of Matrix-y bullet-time slow-motion deal.  I looked him in his sixty billion eyes, raised my broom and said: 'This is the day that death comes for you.'  It was all very zen, up until the point where my ass hit the ground."

            Stiles flopped down into one of the chairs kept for clients, while Derek dropped into Stiles' chair and Scott hoisted himself up onto an old green filing cabinet.  Derek noted the dark pink flush of Stiles' cheeks and quickly turned to his brother.

            "How are you going with those old files?"

            "Way ahead of schedule.  With Stiles' help, I've managed to get to the mid-1990s."  Derek nodded his head and took a second to check out Stiles' desk.

            There were no personal photographs, but it seemed Stiles had an affinity for post-it notes.  They were scattered across the desk, on the keyboard, the clock and even the phone.  And by the look of the pens, he also had quite a large oral fixation…Fuck.

            "So, how'd I do for my first week, boss?"  Stiles asked.  Derek looked up to give a smartass comment, but noticed that there was an unsure look in the guy's eyes.

            "Better than I expected,” Derek mumbled.

            "Wow, bro, you are really allergic to praise,” Scott said.

            "He's getting a fucking pay check isn't he?  He doesn't need me to…"

            "Derek…" Scott frowned at him.

            "Hey, no.  'Better than expected' is the Stiles Stilinski trademark,” Stiles smirked as he looked between the two brothers.

            "Sure, dude.  What about you?  Are you happy enough with _us_ that you'll commit to moving out of that crappy motel?"  Scott asked teasingly, like it was a regular topic of conversation for the two.  Derek was surprised by this, but then he hadn’t really thought about where Stiles was living.

            “I like to call it LA chic, thank you very much,” Stiles replied as he absentmindedly ran a hand over his short hair.  “It’s everything I ever imagined LA could be...noisy sex next door, drug dealers on the corner, great breakfast place across the street.  I am in heaven.”

            “Stiles...” Scott frowned.

            “Scott...” Stiles mimicked back to end the conversation.  Scott huffed and leaned back against the wall.  Derek felt a little lost as he looked from his brother’s face to Stiles’.  He felt that he was missing some relevant context to really appreciate the emotions swirling around the office.  The silence was threatening to suffocate him as he absently picked at a post-it note that seemed to consist of Stiles’ shopping list.  Who needs _three_ jars of peanut butter?

            “So...” Derek began awkwardly before Jackson stomped into the office and dropped into the seat beside Stiles.  He looked around the room and smiled.

            “Well, aren’t you all a fucking miserable bunch.  And here I was thinking that it was only my sparkling personality that made you look like that,” Jackson said to Derek.

            “Oh, we sensed your black hole of suckage travelling up the hall and adjusted our emotions accordingly,” Derek shot back.

            “See that, Stiles,” Jackson said as he pointed his finger at Derek, “...that is what you call unresolved sexual tension.  Sorry Hale, but those good looks aren’t enough to get into my bed.”

            “I wasn’t aware you made it to the bed.  Scott’s still scarred by that marathon session you had against the wall.  Sound travels easily in this office.  Remember that.”  Derek noticed that both Scott and Stiles looked slightly uncomfortable, realizing that this probably wasn’t the most appropriate topic of conversation for the workplace.  Especially with someone new around. 

            Derek pressed down the curling edge of Stiles’ shopping list and looked at Jackson.  “So, are you here with your tail between your legs?  Has the mighty Jackson been bested by a middle-aged real estate developer?  Should I be looking for a new tech guy because the old one has now lost the…”

            “Alright, Hamlet.  You can quit it with the question-filled diatribe.” Derek hated it when Jackson used references and words that he had no clue what they meant. 

            Being made to look dumb in front of Scott always made him defensive.  Derek had never realized how much he enjoyed being looked up to as the all-knowing big brother until the day he walked in on Scott watching Jeopardy and shouting out answers to the screen that were all correct.  Answers that Derek had not even a passing knowledge of.  He’d spent a depressing night in front of the computer searching through the results he’d gotten after typing ‘What to read to know a little bit about everything’.  

            But a quick look over to Scott proved that he hadn’t even noticed the look of momentary confusion on Derek’s face at Jackson’s words, because his little brother was too busy frowning at Stiles.  Stiles, who seemed unaware of the attention and was absentmindedly running his hand up and down the broomstick handle…

            Jackson shot a look at Stiles’ hand and back at Derek’s fixed stare and smirked.  “And while I’m sure you could just _pump_ somebody for information...” Derek jerked his attention back to Jackson at the hacker’s words, “...I think that my lack of finding anything means Peterson’s bit on the side is likely somebody he works with, that he could meet at any time of the work day without leaving a trace of evidence that a master like me would track in a second.”

            “It sounds like you’ve started doing my job.  Did you feel you had to deduce that to make up for the fact that you _failed_ so badly at your actual job?”  Derek enjoyed the look of frustration that crossed Jackson’s face. 

            Stiles let go of the broom - thank fuck - and looked at Derek with those eyes.  Those eyes that Derek _definitely_ was not thinking about when he came so hard in the shower that morning he had to lean his forehead against the tiles for a good five minutes before his breathing went back to normal.  Nope, definitely not those eyes.

            “That does kinda make sense though, dude.  If _Jackson_ couldn’t find anything, it seems likely Peterson is banging somebody he doesn’t need to change his routine for.”  Derek didn’t know what annoyed him more - Stiles automatically agreeing with Jackson, Jackson’s smirk or the fact that the fucker was probably right. 

            Fine, Derek could be the bigger man and admit that Jackson hadn’t failed…maybe.  He watched as the corner of Stiles’ shopping list unstuck itself from the phone and began to curl again.  Well Derek _wasn’t_ going to fix it this time.

            Jackson stood up and walked over to the desk, interrupting Derek’s completely mature plan of stealing the list all together.  “As much as I enjoy proving my superiority over everybody in this office, I do actually have other things to do.”  He placed a piece of paper in front of Derek.  “And even though there wasn’t much, I did take the time to summarize everything I did find.  Other than the gas receipts and a drop in the amount of model airplane kits the guy bought, there really isn’t anything interesting.  Look at this list as a glimpse into your future if you don’t get your ass in gear and get a little _something._ ”  Jackson shot a look to Stiles and back to Derek with a smirk.

            Derek wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of a response and instead looked fixedly down at the list.  He heard Jackson say his normal ‘Farewell fuckers’ before walking out.

            “So, anything interesting?”  Stiles asked as he stood beside Derek to read the piece of paper.  He wasn’t even standing that close, but Derek still felt…something.  Like all his senses were firmly fixed on the body beside him, like every part of his skin was flushed with warmth. 

            Fuck, he felt like a teenager with a crush.  This was definitely not an appropriate reaction for an employer to have towards an employee.  It was definitely not appropriate to be imagining Stiles leaning over the desk – skin flushed, a sheen of sweat over his naked body – as Derek panted hot breaths against his neck while he pounded his cock into what he imagined was a tight…

            Fuck, he was _not_ getting hard at work…in an office that his little brother was currently sitting in.  Derek pushed the paper towards Stiles and sat back a little.  Distance was totally his best friend right now.  “There’s nothing there I didn’t already know,” Derek said in a higher voice than usual.  Hopefully it wasn’t too obvious, but a quick glance at Scott’s amused look proved he was Captain Obvious right now.  Thankfully, Stiles seemed pretty focused on the list.

            “Jackson was right about the model airplane kits.  Here, it looks like he stopped buying them around the time his wife thinks he started having the affair.  And he also bought five USB sticks the same weekend.  That could totally mean something, right?”  Derek stopped Stiles from moving himself and the paper closer with a raise of his hand.

            “Nah, I noticed that.  But think about it.  From what I’ve figured out from the guy’s schedule, Peterson is an all work, very little play, kinda guy.  I’m amazed he has time to fuck his own wife let alone another woman.  So, I’m guessing he chose his Sunday night roll in the sack over his model airplane hobby…” Derek trailed off a little as he became aware of the frown that Scott was directing towards him. 

            The Hale brothers could have entire conversations with their eyebrows and this frown Derek interpreted correctly, as always.  “…But, uh, that’s good work, Stiles.  That’s the kind of information I’m glad you’re noticing and questioning.  And we’ll definitely keep the USB’s in mind.  They could be…important,” he finished stiffly, but the smile Derek received from his brother made it worth the awkwardness.  And the slight blush in Stiles’ cheeks definitely didn’t hurt either.

            “That seemed painful for you, man.  Do you need a minute?  It sounded like that compliment had to fight tooth and nail to claw it’s way out of your mouth,” Stiles smirked as he sat back down.

            “No need.  I _always_ have a fast recovery time,” Derek retorted as he mentally smacked his head against the desk.  Oh god, he was flirting.  He was dropping innuendo to an _employee_ in front of his _brother_.  Derek wondered if it would seem weird to slowly roll himself out of the room on the office chair until he was far enough away for his dignity to return to him.  To Arizona, maybe.

            When he finally managed to shake himself from his thoughts of the troubles he might run into from rolling a chair through the desert, Derek noticed Stiles shyly smiling at him.  Interesting.

            “Does this mean you’re definitely staking out that motel again this weekend?”  Scott thankfully interrupted.  Derek had totally been staring at Stiles’ lips and imagining what it would feel like kissing them after they were swollen and wet from sucking his cock.  Yep, inappropriateness thy name is Derek.

            “Yeah, the wife was pretty vocal about wanting pictures and the name of the mistress.  So I’ve got a hot date Sunday night with my car, a camera and fucking atrocious gas station coffee.”  Derek noticed Scott perk up at that.

            “Stiles should go with you.” 

            There was no way Derek could handle that.  Being in an enclosed space with the guy didn’t seem the smartest play right now.  Not until he had whatever it was he was feeling under control.  Another week, Derek could totally reign in his libido in that timeframe.

            “Scott, it’s only his first week.  Only office work, remember.  Plus, I’m not a slave driver.  The guy deserves his weekend.”  Derek hoped that argument sounded convincing.  He took a quick glance at Stiles and saw he seemed slightly uncomfortable that he was the topic of conversation.  But then Derek looked back at his brother, surprised to see the look of determination on Scott’s face.

            “Derek, you said yourself that Stiles is doing really well.  And this is a pretty simple stakeout job.  It’s the perfect first case for him.  At least it’ll show him that the job isn’t all about sitting at a desk doing database entries.” 

            “That _is_ a big part of the job.  It’s not exciting most of the time and he needs to get used to it.”  Derek trailed off as he looked at the lost look in Scott’s eyes and realized how much of an idiot he was for not seeing it sooner. 

            His brother’s strange fixation of getting Stiles to move out of his motel, of making the job seem as interesting as possible.  Scott had finally begun to open himself up again to a friend – to Stiles.  And he was desperately trying to make sure that he was giving Stiles enough reasons to make this a permanent thing. 

            While Derek admitted to himself that this wasn’t exactly the most normal or healthiest behaviour, he understood where Scott was coming from.  Fuck his libido, if doing this helped to take a little of the worry off of Scott’s face then Derek would step up.

            Derek turned to Stiles and saw that the guy had probably figured out the same thing.  He knew that Scott had mentioned Allison to Stiles – he didn’t know exactly what, Derek had just heard fragments from his office, but it was obvious Stiles knew a little of Scott’s history. 

            “If you don’t have plans Sunday, you’re free to tag along on this.  Be warned that it’s boring as hell and as you’re the newbie, you’ll be providing the food…” Derek pointed at the shopping list with the offensively curled corner, “…and PB & J is not an acceptable stakeout meal.”

            Stiles glanced at Scott and then smirked at Derek.  “Understood.  I don’t think you’re ready for _my_ jelly anyway,” Stiles remained smiling as he leaned back against the wall. 

            Derek scowled because he knew his cheeks were definitely red at that moment.  But the laugh that Scott let out made him realize that his embarrassment was a small price to pay for the obvious tension that melted away from his little brother.  Damn, there’d better be a fuckload of good karma coming his way for this.

            Derek stood up and pushed the office chair under the desk.  “Let’s go guys.  Stiles, you are invited to the Argent & Hale Agency Friday night tradition of burgers and beers down at Danny’s.  I’ll meet you guys down there.”

            Derek walked straight out of the room without sparing a glance at either of the two guys, but he heard Scott jump down from the filing cabinet and talk quietly with Stiles.  Derek reached his office and closed the door, his body falling against it with a thud.  Being in a car for hours, with a guy who seemed to be made up of everything his cock reacted to, was going to be completely fine.  Completely.

********

            Danny’s bar had long ago become the main source of nutrition for the Hale brothers.  The brown leather booths, low lighting and mahogany bar had become as much of a home for Derek as the agency offices next door.

            When the Mahealani’s decided to retire a few years ago, Derek had panicked at the thought of some hipster owners coming in and destroying the bar for a new store specializing in something irritating like chess pieces or puppet strings.

            However the youngest of the sons, Danny, had decided that he wanted to keep the business that his parents had spent their lives creating open and practically the same.  Derek had been forever grateful to Danny for that decision.

            Derek opened the front door, performed his customary nod towards Danny and then headed right to the back of the bar, to the booth that had long ago been assigned for the personal use of the Hales…and now Stiles.

            As Derek walked closer he saw that Scott was showing Stiles something on his phone.  Probably one of those stupid pictures of that damn cat that the office had collectively agreed was Derek’s feline equivalent.  Derek didn’t see any kind of resemblance whatsoever.  None.

            “I hope you’ve ordered already.  I am fucking starving,” Derek said as he slipped into the booth beside Scott and opposite Stiles.  Scott quickly pocketed his phone while Stiles took a long sip from his beer.  Derek definitely did not pay strict attention to the way Stiles throat moved as he swallowed, or the drop of condensation that slid obscenely down his index finger.

            Scott kicked Derek’s ankle and answered him with a smirk.  “Yeah, we ordered your usual.  But I probably should warn you that Lydia’s on tonight.”  Derek grimaced.  Lydia did not like Derek.  And he really couldn’t blame her for it.

            Lydia had begun waitressing for Danny a few weeks after Scott had started working for the agency.  She had flirted unashamedly with his little brother and while Scott didn’t say anything, Derek could feel the waves of tension coming off of him.  Derek had gone straight to Danny and told him that he should ensure that his wait staff didn’t harass the customers, namely Scott.

            Ever since then, Lydia made sure that Derek’s burger always came with tomato – a food he hated with a vengeance.  But Derek couldn’t blame her because going behind Lydia’s back to her boss was a douchey move, so he tolerated the process of having to take the extra time to remove the offensive slices and scraping any trace of them from this burger.

            “Have I mentioned how cool it is you guys got to grow up here?  I mean look at this place,” Stiles said as he gestured wildly with his hands.  Scott quickly slid Stiles’ beer bottle away from certain disaster as he continued.  “I thought places like this existed only in Chandler novels or Bogart movies.  Any minute now a doxy in a long red dress is going to come in asking for a mysterious favour.”

            Derek couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at Stiles’ words and enthusiasm.  “A doxy?”

            “Yeah, you know a doxy, a dame, a gorgeous lady with a cryptic past,” Stiles answered with his usual animated hand movements.

            “Oh, I know what a doxy is.  I’ve just never heard anybody say it in an actual conversation before.  Do all of your life experiences come from books?”  Derek asked as he grabbed a handful of peanuts to stave off the hunger until his burger arrived.

            Stiles dropped his hands and grabbed his beer back from the safety of Scott’s protection.  “I just like to read is all.  You know, small town and all that,” Stiles muttered as he took another sip.

            Scott kicked him again – what the hell?! – and turned to Stiles.  “You’re in good company then, dude.  What age were you when you first saw The Thin Man, Derek?”

            “Shut up, Scott,” Derek mumbled.  Great, his brother was turning his relaxing Friday night into ‘let’s recount Derek’s most embarrassing moments’.  But Scott didn’t seem to care about his older brother’s obvious discomfort.

            “You were thirteen, right?  God, you should’ve seen him, Stiles.  He spent two months pretending he was William Powell – complete with fake mustache and laying around on chairs pretending to be drunk.  It was hilarious.”  Derek rubbed a hand over his face and groaned inwardly.  Sometimes he hated the fact that there was a person in the world who know all of his most cringe-inducing moments and wasn’t afraid to share them with the world.

            Thankfully Scott’s attempt to completely obliterate any chance Derek had of a social life was interrupted by the vibration of Stiles’ phone on the table.  A glance down revealed the caller id ‘Dad’ which Stiles quickly hit ignore on.

            Stiles shot a look at Derek and realized he’d seen his actions.  “Yeah, my dad…” Stiles began as he brushed his hands awkwardly over his hair, “…always ringing to, uh, make sure I’m eating healthy.  You know, not hanging around any unsavoury types.  If I answered now I’ll be on the phone for an hour while he tries to get a Google street view of my motel.  I’ll call him later.”

            Derek watched as Stiles nervously picked at the condensation soaked label of his beer bottle.  So, obviously a strained relationship with his dad then.  Derek understood that. 

            Not long after his mother had died his dad went missing for weeks on end, burying himself in work.  There were many times when Derek resented his father for leaving him to take care of Scott.  Fathers and sons – always complicated in his experience.

            “What Scott always fails to mention when he tells that story is that he was Asta in that Thin Man reenactment.  Dog collar and all,” Derek smirked at his brother at the memory of forcing Scott to be his sidekick.  And because Scott had refused to be Nora, he compromised by being the dog.

            Stiles smiled brightly at him and it momentarily took Derek’s breath away.  “Please tell me there are photos of this.  That is definitely something that needed to be captured on film for the ages.”

            “Oh, Derek tried.  But I threatened to take my roleplay seriously by peeing in all of his shoes and he backed off,” Scott answered with a fond smile.

            “Threatened?!  I had to throw away two pairs of gym shoes because I couldn’t get the stale smell of your piss out of them!” Derek bickered.

            “Yeah well that’s because you locked me out of the house and said I had to sleep outside!  What did you think I was going to do?”  Scott shot back.  Derek noticed Stiles watching the two brothers intently with an almost sad look in his eyes.  Which was again interrupted by the vibration of Stiles’ phone.

            “You are one popular dude.  Party man Stiles is in the house,” Scott laughed as he stole the bowl of peanuts away from Derek and began to finish them off.  Derek saw the name ‘Isaac’ flash on the screen, and this call Stiles quickly answered.  Was Isaac a friend, a boyfriend?

            “Hey.  Is this important, I’m kinda…” Stiles trailed off as he listened closely to whatever this Isaac guy was saying.  Whatever it was had Stiles sitting straighter, and Derek could swear he could hear the guys brain kick into gear.  What could possibly be interesting that someone named _Isaac_ said?  “Okay, okay.  Let me call you back in twenty minutes.  Yes, I’ve got it.  Okay.”

            Stiles hit end and put the phone in his pocket.  “Do you have to go?” Scott asked.

            Stiles pushed his beer away and slid out from the booth.  “Yeah, sorry.  Friend from home…you know.”  No, Derek didn’t know.  “I’ll definitely see you Sunday though, right?”  He asked Derek.

            “Yeah.  Remember the food,” he replied avoiding eye contact with Stiles.  Derek couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t a little annoyed at Stiles ditching them just because of a phone call.  A stupid phone call from someone stupidly named Isaac.

            “No worries, dude.  But I’m totally stealing your burger to take home,” Scott said.

            “I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” Stiles smiled as he turned to leave.  “I’ll see you guys later.”  Derek watched as Stiles walked quicker than usual out of the bar.  Probably a boyfrend then.  Stupid Isaac probably ringing for stupid phone sex.  Stupid.

            “Stop frowning.  You know you’re being completely obvious,” Scott said as he poked Derek in the shoulder with his finger.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Derek responded.  “How long can it take to cook a fucking cheeseburger?”  Distractions were definitely needed right now.

            Scott just snorted and went back to finishing off the last of the peanuts.

********

_Flashback_

_3 weeks before Stiles' first day_

 

            This was Chris' favourite time of the day.  The heat of the sun simmered away and he could feel the light, cool night air flow over him as he lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips.  The coolness of the glass was the perfect counterpoint to the warmth of the liquid on his tongue.  Chris closed his eyes as he swallowed, and as the burn of alcohol travelled towards his stomach he leaned back on the soft leather office chair and looked out of his window.

            His office at Argent & Hale felt like more of a home than his house did nowadays.  The sofa-turned-bed in the corner could attest to the fact.  Memories of his wife had turned the house into his very own Catch-22.  Spending too much time there was painful, as Victoria's essence had permeated every room.  It was also for that very reason that he couldn't bear to contemplate selling it.  So…his office it was then.

            Not that this place was devoid of painful memories, Chris thought as he glanced towards the connecting door that led to Michael-now-Derek's office.  He turned back to the window and took another sip.  But the presence of Derek and Scott, with Danny and Jackson next door helped to keep him in the present here.  His house pushed him into the past.

            Chris turned the chair back around to his desk to pour himself another glass and noticed a figure leaning against the frame of the main door of his office.

            "Fuck!  Just what I need at this time of my life.  A goddamn stalker,"  Chris snarled as he gulped down his whiskey and turned his chair fully around to face the intruder.

            "Well, I'm not adverse to the lean, muscly type, but you've got too much of a 'ridden _way_ too hard and put away fucked' look to do it for me,"  John Stilinski said as he lowered his arm from the doorframe.

            "What do you want?"  Chris asked gruffly, knowing that if John had travelled down from Beacon Hills, it wasn't for an old friend’s sparkling personality.

            "A favour," John answered as he took the seat opposite him, swiping the whiskey bottle for himself and taking a swig from it.  He then leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk.

            "Actually, you could say I'm here collecting for past services rendered."  Chris narrowed his eyes.

            "Why do I get the feeling my night's about to turn into a big pile of shitness?"  John grimaced as he put down the whiskey.

            "It may be a little more long-term than a night,"  he said as he avoided eye contact by glancing around the room.

            "Long-term," Chris repeated back in monotone.  His mind was running through excuses to decline whatever this favour was, but saying no to John, especially after everything in the past, was no easy feat.

            "It's my son…"  John began but quickly stopped when he noticed Chris straighten up in his chair.

            "Stiles…right?  He must be early 20s now."

            "22.  And he's a really good kid.  It's just…"  John looked at Chris expectantly, hoping he didn't have to say the words.

            "He's asking questions."  John sighed at Chris' words.

            "Actively searching is more like it…He's been doing nothing else.  I'm losing him to the past, Chris."

            "I don't know what you think I can…"

            "I want you to give him a job."  Chris looked at his friend for a second and then moved to pour each of them a glass of whiskey.

            "And Stiles wants a job…as a private detective?"

            "Doing the PI test to get accredited is the only thing he's ever done that could possibly lead to a career.  And I'm sure he only got that to find more information on his mother's death…"  John took a long sip and sat back in his chair, cradling the glass.

            "So, what's he like?  The last time I saw him I don't think he was even talking."  John smiled wistfully at the words.

            "Yeah, that's definitely changed…But, he's so smart, Chris.  And his heart is _so_  big, but he refuses to let anybody in."

            "Look, John...I would do anything for you and I really want Stiles to have a great life…but how does working for me help that?  In fact, wouldn't it make it worse…I mean _I_ was there, Derek and Scott's _father_ was there…"

            "Fuck, I know…" John sighed as he ran a hand over his face, "…I honestly have no idea what I'm doing.  But, I know _personally_ that there's no record of you and Michael ever being in Beacon Hills and Chris…I have no one else I can go to.  I lost his mother, I can't lose him."  Both men sat in silence, while Chris contemplated his next move.

            "I'd need a few weeks.  The boys would be suspicious if some guy just shows up out of the blue.  I'd have to lay a little…groundwork."

            "Of course,"  John answered.

            "And what about on your end?  I can't just ring and offer..," Chris stopped as John reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope.

            "I may have already laid a little of my own 'groundwork'."  John laid the envelope in the front of Chris.  "I may have a favour owed to me by the editor of the Beacon Hills Gazette.  Forgive me, but I placed a few Argent & Hale ads in the paper.  That's Stiles' application."  Chris laughed.

            "If Stiles is as resourceful as his father, I don't think I'll be regretting this decision."

            "So, does that mean you're going to do it?"  Chris capped the bottle of whiskey, rolled back his chair and stood up.

            "I'll see him for an interview next week.  I take it that you and he are not going to part on the best of terms."

            "He needs it, Chris.  I don't care if he hates me for pushing this, but I need to give him the chance of the life we always wanted for him.  He can't do it in Beacon Hills."

            Chris stood and shook hands with John, then watched him turn and slowly walk out of the office.  God, he hoped that this didn't come back to bite him in the ass.


	3. Chapter 3

_Flashback_

_8 months before Stiles’ first day / 4 months after Allison’s death_

 

“Hey, I’m just heading off to do some interviews on that embezzlement thing…” Derek said as he stood awkwardly in the doorway, “…so is there anything you need, or that I can get for you while I’m out?”

“No, bro.  I’m all good here finishing off these background checks,” Scott said with a small smile and an easy wave of his hand.

“Oh.  Okay.  Well, if you need anything…just call me,” Derek said as he stared at him for a second before he walked out of the office.

Scott let out a deep sigh and dropped his smile.  It had been a month since he had come back to work at the agency.  A month of Derek creeping around his desk trying to anticipate Scott’s every want and need.  Thankfully his big brother had seen god knows what in his face to step back a little in the last week.

He minimized the window on his screen and pulled up his saved tabs that contained the archives of every newspaper in the state.  Scott pulled his chair closer to the desk and settled in for his daily routine of scouring articles for any reports of attacks similar to Allison’s murder.

Allison had been taken away from him nearly four months ago and there was nothing to indicate that the asshole that did it would ever be caught.  Scott knew that if Derek was aware of what he spent the majority of his day doing, his big brother would step up his ‘Keep Scott Happy’ plan exponentially.

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand why Derek treated him like he could break apart at any moment.  Scott didn’t remember a lot from those first few weeks after Allison’s death.   What he did remember made him cringe.

Scott had a memory of some time during the first few days, when Derek had come over and started to scrub away the black marks left behind by the police fingerprint powder.  One second he was sitting on the couch, and the next he was ripping the cloth from his shocked brother’s hands and adding a hard punch to the face for emphasis.  For the life of him, Scott still didn’t know why he had snapped so violently that day.

After that he guessed his brother had tagged in Chris for ScottWatch for a little while.  The older man had made sure that there was a meal from Danny’s in the fridge at all times.  It wasn’t until Chris had sat down and started a speech with some shit about living that Scott snapped again.  He remembered yelling about how Chris couldn’t understand because _he_ got to have a life with his wife.  Sure, she’d died of cancer but Chris had gotten to say goodbye.  When the anger left him, Scott realized he needed some time away from everything.

That plan was soon nixed by the fact that he was still a possible suspect in an active murder investigation.  So he rang Derek, saying he would be incommunicado for a little while, and called the cops to tell them the name of the motel he was staying at on the other side of the city.

Once Scott had been cleared of suspicion he was allowed access to the _abridged_ report of Allison’s murder investigation.  And it was all a big fat pile of useless information that he had already figured out for himself.

Point of entry was the bathroom window.  The bathroom window that Allison had been bugging him about because it wouldn’t latch properly.  Any trace evidence that the killer may have left behind was washed away by the shower.  There were no prints left on the knife that had been found in Allison’s chest.

Frustration didn’t even begin to describe the way that Scott felt.  After he realized that the police had nothing, he knew it was up to him to find the son of a bitch himself.

The first step was going to work at Argent & Hale.  The agency had access to research resources that would help Scott begin his investigation.  Derek had almost tripped over himself in setting up an office for his brother.  Scott knew Derek thought that working was the start of his little brother’s return to life – and Scott really did feel guilty about misleading him.  But this was too important.

He’d laid low for the first week, diligently relearning the process of performing background checks and quietly completing them while his brother hovered around.  But as soon as Derek had given him some time alone, he’d started tracking any stabbings in the LA County area and looking into Allison’s past for any possible connections to her murder.

When everything had led to a dead end, Scott knew he needed to gain access to the full police report.  The report that would list the names of all possible suspects the police had, the full autopsy report and any annotations the police made that could reveal small tidbits of information.

To get access to the report he needed Jackson.  Scott had no idea how to even broach the subject or how to stop the hacker from telling Derek what he’d been up to.  But it was now time to take the chance.

Scott looked briefly at the crime reports as he steeled himself to approach Jackson.  It was times like this that he wished he was more like Derek.  His brother was the most honest guy he’d ever known.  No secrets, no lies.  Derek didn’t have the stress of having to keep things hidden.  He just hoped his big brother would understand why Scott had had to keep this from him.  He probably wouldn’t.  Derek was as judgmental as he was honest.

It was now or never.  Scott took a deep breath, stood up and made his way to Jackson’s apartment.  As he got closer to the door his heart began to pound and his temples felt they were squeezing his brain like a vice.  Scott took another breath and opened the door.

“Uhhh…Jackson?”  Scott had no idea what to say next.

Jackson leaned over, picked up a file and spun around to face him.  “Here.  It’s everything the police have on Allison’s investigation.” 

Scott walked over and grabbed the folder.  “How did you know?”  It was obvious that Jackson was definitely a genius, but this was bordering on psychic territory.

Jackson smirked at him and gave him the look that showed how stupid he thought you were.  And weirdly, Scott loved it.  The hacker was the only person who’d never treated him differently after Allison’s death - no looks of sympathy, no effort to be extra nice to him.

“Scott, I’m disappointed.  You search for shit on the work computers and I’m gonna know about it.  At least your activity was _slightly_ interesting.  Your brother is all work unless he’s bidding on eBay to complete his collection of Agatha Christie books.  Fucking boring.”  Jackson turned back to his monitor, the sign that he was done being social.

Scott stood in place shaking as he realized that he finally had the report in his hands.  “Thank you,” he whispered even though he knew Jackson could care less if Scott was grateful or not.

He rushed back to his office and sat down, hugging the file to his chest.

 

********

_Now_

   Derek thanked the LA parking gods that his theory had held true for another week.  A few years ago he’d discovered the strange happenstance of the abundance of spare parking spaces in front of police stations on a Saturday afternoon.  Derek had no idea why this was, but he wasn’t going to be questioning his good luck any time soon.

As he hopped out of the Camaro and walked up the few steps to the station entrance, Derek noticed a hardening string of cheese running down the front of his shirt.  Damn that idiot for using mozzarella on his burger.  Derek quickly picked the offending food off of his shirt and hoped that Finstock wouldn’t notice the oil that had remained behind.  Finstock was always quick to pick out examples of how Derek wasn’t a functioning adult.  This coming from a guy whose hair constantly looked like it was trying to escape by exploding out of his scalp.

“Hale!  Visiting me every week isn’t gonna get you any closer to getting in my pants!”  Finstock shouted out from across the squad room.

“I’ll cancel those flowers then,” Derek retorted as he dragged a chair over to Finstock’s desk.  “But since I keep doing your job for you, you could at least put out a little.”

“Fine.”  Finstock rolled his chair closer to his desk and jiggled the mouse to wake his computer from sleep.  “Under the shirt, but above the waist – I’ve gotta make you work for the good stuff…So, what case have you ‘solved’?”

“Richards.  Jewelry theft.”  Derek pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it on the desk.  “Here’s the police case number.”

“Jackson’s at least sticking to the _spirit_ of the law.  Right?”  Finstock asked as he squinted down at the paper and punched the number into the keyboard with his index finger.

“He always keep the law in mind.”

“Hmm…Here we go – Victim was a Doris Richards,” the cop said as he skimmed quickly through the report.  “Stealing jewelry from a sweet old lady.  I take it you rode in on your white horse and saved the day?”

“No.  I got hired and did my fucking job.  Maybe I can come in on my next day off and give you guys some pointers.”

Finstock took a mouthful of coffee and began to type.  “I couldn’t take away the feeling of superiority that keeps you warm at night.”

Derek gave him a snide smirk.  “Oh, _you_.  Always thinking of me…Mrs. Richards wants the case closed.  She made a mistake.”

“And _off_ the record…?”

“Same old story. Mother’s jewellery.  Jealous sister.”

“Gotcha.  I’ll just put down the code for a Crazy Old Lady,” replied Finstock as he typed a few words and exited the database.

“Police sensitivity training at its finest,” quipped Derek.

“Your fine tax dollars at work…” started Finstock.

“Come to see how people can make an actual and positive contribution to society, Hale?”  Detective Harris sneered, walking over to them and handing a file to Finstock.

“Wait.  Don’t move.  That pose there will complete the series for my ‘Harris At Work’ scrapbook,” Derek replied wryly as he received a sour look from the weasel-y detective.

Adrian Harris had despised the entire Hale family – what was left of them – for years.  Derek’s father had been hired to prove Adrian Harris Senior had been cheating on his wife.  What he’d found was that the man had been spending most of his nights snorting coke off of the stomachs of a revolving door of hookers.

Soon after, Mrs. Harris had apparently had a breakdown and left Adrian and his brothers with their father.  Derek didn’t know all the details, but he got the impression that the increased parental responsibility did nothing to decrease Harris Sr’s ‘seedier’ appetites.

So, while he could understand Detective Harris’ referred hate, it didn’t lessen the feeling that Derek had to punch the guy in the face.  It was actually on his Top 5 List of Things He Really Really Really Wanted to Do.

“This sexual tension is just making all my insides _twist_ in anticipation.  How do you two expect any work to get done in this precinct with all the eye-fucking?” Finstock snarked, taking in the death glares shooting between Derek and Harris.

“Don’t worry.  I’m saving myself only for you,” Derek retorted as he watched Weasel Face give him a dismissive look and marched off toward the break room.  “I sense a parking ticket in my future.”

Finstock gulped down the rest of his coffee, burped, and spun his chair around to free throw the paper cup into the wastebasket.  “Score!  I wouldn’t worry about the parking ticket; your lover boy just made Vice, so getting you busted on solicitation is probably more his style now.”

“Wonderful.  I’m gonna have to be on the look-out for planted drugs.  I can’t wait.”

“You’re just living the dream, aren’t you Hale?”  Finstock said as he opened his bottom desk drawer, pulled out a file and handed it to Derek.  “New stuff on the top as always.”

Allison’s file.  Allison’s _murder_ file.

This had become a part of Derek’s weekly routine.  Every Saturday he’d visit Finstock, make a little small talk, harass Harris…and go through any new leads on his brother’s dead fiancée’s murder case.  That was totally normal and well-adjusted.  Right?

Derek sighed and opened the file.  He could get this information from Jackson in five minutes flat – if he asked.  Which he wouldn’t.  While Argent & Hale was excellent at keeping _client_ confidentiality, confidentiality between its members was a different story.

He didn’t really need Scott to know that his big brother was talking out of his ass when he spoke about trying to move on and that old standard:  ‘Sometimes the bad guy gets away with it.’  Hale family life lesson right there.

“There’s really nothing new,” Finstock said and held up his hand before Derek could interrupt, ‘but I know you’ll want to see the stuff anyway.  It’s just two transcripts of calls that came in on the tip line.”

Derek’s eyes shot up.  “Only two?”

“You know how it is.  It’s been over a year.  Tips are drying up and leaving the crazy behind,” Finstock said, sympathetically.  Ughh, Derek hated it when he did that.

Quickly skimming over the logs, though, Derek saw that Finstock was being kind by only calling them ‘crazy’.  The first caller said that Allison’s death was a sign that the end was near; while the second claimed that the ghost of their mother killed Allison as punishment for ‘living together in sin’.

Fuck.  Now he remembered why he didn’t like people.  They were fucking insane.

Derek closed the file, slid it away from him and stood up.  “I’ll see you next week.  Try to wear something sexy for the occasion.”

“Derek…” Finstock began.

“Yeah, yeah.”  Derek knew the speech off by heart:  Let the police do their job…This isn’t healthy…Blah, blah, blah.

“I was just going to say I don’t think I’ll take fashion advice from someone who seems to be wearing their lunch…” he gestured to the oil on Derek’s shirt.  Damn mozzarella.  “…But the other stuff still applies.”

Derek pushed the chair back where he had found it and walked out of the precinct.

His brother _needed_ answers.

Well-adjusted life choices?  Fuck ‘em.

 

*****

 

Derek juggled the containers of spaghetti bolognese and garlic bread in his arms as he unlocked the apartment door.

“Thank god, dude.  I’m starving,” Scott said as he dropped the Xbox controller to the floor and jumped up off the couch to follow his brother into the kitchen.

“Howard threw in an extra serving.  Said I’m not feeding you enough,” said Derek while he took the three trays out of the bag and laid them out on the table.

“Oh.  Here I was thinking you’d become sociable and invited over the guy you’ve been creepily perving at all week,” Scott quipped, ripping off a piece of garlic bread and stuffing it into his mouth.

“I’m not creepy,” frowned Derek as he grabbed two plates from the cabinet.

“You _are_ checking Stiles out a lot.”  Scott grabbed the offered plate and sat down opposite his big brother.  “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but it’s pretty obvious dude.”

“I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Or anyone…Yeah, yeah, ‘Derek’s Cone of Silence’ and all that.  But you know that Stiles isn’t blind, right?  And you’ve been _extra_ weird about him.”

Derek sighed as he heaped a pile of food onto his plate.  “Do you think the Dodger’s are gonna take the pennant this year?”

“Nice deflection.  But you do this every time.”

“Do what every time?”  Derek asked, annoyed.  This is not how he should be spending his Saturday night.  Being analyzed by his little brother?  Definitely annoying.

“When you meet someone new, you don’t bother you see them as a person,” Scott said as he chewed on a huge mouthful of pasta.

“Do you think the pitching staff will hold up if we make the playoffs?”

“No.  But about Stiles…”

Derek threw down his fork.  “Stop it, Scott.  I ‘see him as a person’ just fine.  Can we just eat and talk about sport?”

“No,” Scott calmly replied.  “You’ve gotta go on a stakeout with him tomorrow.  I wanna make sure that Stiles isn’t gonna quit because you creep-eye him the whole time.”

“ _Creep-eye_?  That’s not even a word.”

“Really?  ‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s the only way to describe how you were looking at the guy when he ate that burger,” Scott smirked and watched his brother duck his head, idly moving pasta around on his plate.  “But it’s what I’m talking about.  You don’t have to get to know him if you just keep seeing him in a, you know, _sex_ way.”

Derek rubbed his forehead.  Despite Scott’s ‘inelegant’ wording, he sort of made sense.  A little bit.  It would explain the way he’d been thing about Stiles and sex constantly.  Fuck.  When did his little brother get so insightful?

“Fine.  Whatever.  I’ll get to know him tomorrow.  Maybe _he’ll_ talk about baseball with me,” Derek responded petulantly.  He ripped off a hunk of garlic bread and mopped up some of the sauce on his plate.

“Sure.  Because the last time you watched a full baseball game was the 16th of never.”

“I’ve got shit to do.  Anyway, I listen on the radio…But while we’re talking about Stiles – the two of you seem to be getting along.”

Scott shrugged his shoulders.  “I guess.”

“You guys are turning your office into a frat house, and you can only _guess_?  I half expected him to be spending the night braiding your hair and gossiping.”  Derek pushed his half-empty plate away and leaned back in his chair.

“That’s what I have you for,” Scott retorted.

“Oh, damn.  I just dropped my curling iron at the shop.”

“We’ll just use your backup one.”

Derek kicked his little brother’s shin under the table.  “You’re a funny guy…But really, you and Stiles seem to be pretty friendly.”

“Yeah.  He’s a pretty cool guy.”  Scott dragged a tray closer and heaped out another serving of bolognese for himself.  “He’s kinda private, which means…you know…” he finished and scooped a mouthful of food into his mouth.

Derek did know.

It must be nice for his brother to be able to talk with somebody that didn’t want to pry into the salacious details of his past.  That didn’t stop Derek from being irritated that Stiles and Scott seemed to have become friends so quickly.

Why the fuck was he irritated?

He was relieved that his brother was letting somebody into his life.  Derek just felt that Scott was slighting him with the comment about Stiles’ respect for privacy.

Whatever.  He just missed the way things used to be with Scott.  Less guarded.  Less worried about upsetting him all of the time.

“If you’re finished, I taped a couple of episodes of Starsky & Hutch,” Scott said, getting up from the table.  He picked up his plate and dropped it into the sink.  “We can sit back with some beers and watch them fight crime on the mean streets of L.A.”

Derek sealed the food trays and piled them up to put them in the fridge.  “How can I say no to that?”  As he found a place for the pasta, Derek grabbed two beers from the bottom shelf.  He watched as Scott flopped down on the couch and set up the DVR.

This was…normal.  Derek decided he kinda liked normal.

 

*****

 

_Flashback_

_Stiles’ third day at work – Wednesday_

 

Scott stared blankly at his computer screen as the sound of Stiles’ typing droned on in the background.  So far, the new guy had been pretty great.  Stiles didn’t really talk about himself a lot, but he definitely could make Scott laugh with the things he _did_ say.

Not to mention there was the entertainment value of watching his suddenly deer-in-the-headlights older brother.  Scott had thought that Derek was going to have a stroke right there at the table as he watched Stiles with that straw at lunch.  Hilarious.

But now it was time for work.  And when he said work, he meant trolling through newspaper archives, yet again.  Scott sighed.  He’d found nothing.  Jackson had been keeping him up-to-date with any new leads or tips the police had.  But _they_ were officially reaching crazy-town territory.  He was beginning to get so desperate, Scott even thought about visiting the psychic Lydia had mentioned.

“I’ll just say this, and feel free to tell me to fuck off…” Scott was shaken from his thoughts by Stiles staring at him over the computer screen.  “But if you need any help with your search…you can ask me.”

“Fuck off,” Scott replied automatically.

“Okay,” Stiles said and went back to his typing.

Maybe it was Stiles’ nonchalant manner that made Scott pause.  Stiles wasn’t stupid.  It had probably only been a matter of time before he figured out what Scott was up to – considering they shared a pretty small office.

But he’d only known Stiles for a few days.  It was pretty irrational to trust him with something like this.

To trust him with _Allison_.

Scott knew if he needed help, he really should be asking Derek.  But that would involve encountering the patented ‘Derek Disapproves’ look and a complete ratcheting up of the brotherly worry.  Scott didn’t think he had the strength to focus on finding Allison’s murderer and on not adding more strain into Derek’s life.

Scott picked up a pen and began tapping on the keyboard.  It’d be nice to have somebody to talk to about this.  Someone that didn’t come with a shitload of emotional baggage.  But just taking the leap and trusting Stiles – that was fucking scary.

“So, when you say help…” Scott awkwardly started and then stopped to stare at the guy across from him.

Stiles stopped typing and wheeled himself around on his chair until he was beside Scott’s half of the desk.

“I have a little…experience with what you’re trying to do…” Stiles said, rubbing his neck.  “Sometimes, it’s good to have another perspective, or even just someone to bounce crazy theories off.”

Scott took a deep breath and closely studied Stiles.  “This is really important to me.”

“I know.”

“And it’s not really something I want other people to know I’m doing…I mean, Jackson knows…”

“Got it.  Keep it on the down-low.”

Scott stared at Stiles for a moment.  Stiles stared back.  The guy seemed sincere.  Scott slowly opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a well-thumbed file.  Stiles broke eye-contact to look down at it.

“This is everything I’ve got,” Scott said a little shakily.  He still couldn’t quite believe he was actually trusting Stiles with this.  “It’s not much.  But maybe there’s something I’ve missed or can’t see ‘cause I’m too…” he tapered off.

Stiles gave a small nod and scratched his temple.  “I get it, man.”

Scott handed the file to Stiles and tracked the guy as he slid back to his desk.  Stiles glanced up at Scott, gave him a ‘we’re in this together’ smile and opened up the battered folder.

 

*****

 

_Now_

 

The yellow glow of the streetlight barely illuminated the interior of the Camaro; the light _was_ enough for Derek to have had the joy of watching Stiles suck orange chip powder off of his fingers for the last minute.

Derek inwardly groaned and checked the status of the camera battery for the hundredth time.  He’d spent last night staring at the ceiling and thinking about what Scott had said about his objectifying of Stiles so he never had to get to know him.  Ughh…objectifying was _so_ much easier than awkward small talk.

“So, how many of these do you have to do a week?  ‘Cause I gotta tell you-“ said Stiles, running his eyes over Derek’s body, “-any more than one stakeout a week and I won’t be fitting into this car. I guess there’s always the white van option…except, of course, for their inherent sleazeball association.”

“Of course,” Derek replied, blankly.

“I mean, not everybody can pull off the international man of mystery look _you’ve_ got going – what with all the blackness and the leather,” Stiles said while gesturing around the car and towards Derek’s outfit of choice.

“Well we can’t all be on the cutting edge of lumberjack fashion,” Derek replied, looking pointedly at Stiles’ shirt.  How many plaid shirts did this guy have?

Stiles gave him a smirk and leaned down to go through his apparently endless supply of heart-attack-inducing snacks.  “Honestly, though.  How many times a week do you have to do this?”

“Not that often.  Couple of times a week at the most, depending on how deep a client wants us to dig.”

Stiles nodded as he straightened back up with his prize of a bag of slightly melted chocolate chip cookies.  Derek shook his head when the guy jerked the bag in his direction.  Stiles shrugged his shoulders, settled back and began chewing.  “It must suck.”

Derek glanced away from the hotel room door to look at his new ‘partner’.  “What does?”

“I don’t know…having to pay somebody to follow around the person you love…it must suck, is all.”

Derek rolled his eyes and looked back at the hotel.  “That’s the job,” he tersely responded.  “If it bothers you, you picked the _wrong_ line of work.”  Who was this kid to come along and judge what he does?  An asshole.

“Don’t get your jeans in a knot – which I don’t think is possible, I mean how tight do you buy them? – I just think it’s a little sad.  Whatever.”  Stiles stared out ahead of him, slightly jiggling his left knee.

“Don’t feel too badly about Mrs. Peterson.  I get the feeling that the only thing that she wants her husband to be faithful to is her bank account.”

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes; Derek rested his camera on the steering wheel while Stiles stuffed another cookie into his mouth.  He made Derek jump when he threw the bag to the ground and violently wiped his hands on his shirt.

“You know what we’re missing…Coffee!  It wouldn’t be a stakeout without it.  Let me just-“ Stiles went to open the car door when Derek threw his hand onto Stiles’ chest to stop him from moving.  “Uhhh, dude?” Stiles looked questioningly down at where Derek’s fingers gripped his under-shirt.

Derek took a moment and then moved the offending appendage back to the steering wheel.  Damn it.  He was not going to discuss _why_ right now with Stiles.  Fucking history.  Did it have to turn him into a psychological petri-dish of mental disorders?

He steadily ignored the questioning gaze from Stiles while he reached around to grab a thermos off of the back seat.

“Here,” Derek said as he thrusted the thermos at Stiles.  “Scott made it.”

“Oh, saving me from convenience store drudge.  Top marks, dude,” quipped Stiles, deliberately ignoring the obvious weirdness of Derek’s reaction.

Derek was thankful.  Fucking relieved, actually.  What could he say?  _Oh hey…You know how want to go get some coffee?...Can you not do that?  ‘Cause my dad did that…and died…So let’s just drink out of this thermos…Thanks_.

Yep.  Totally normal.

Derek watched as Stiles’ long fingers unscrewed the top of the thermos.  Fuck.  No, he promised himself he was not going to ‘creep-eye’ Stiles anymore.  Mr. Fucking Professional.  He looked out the driver’s side window.

“So…you grew up a Sheriff’s son.  That must have been…interesting.”  Christ, he was bad at this.

Stiles shrugged his shoulders as he took a sip of the piping hot _extra_ black coffee.  “It was okay.  It’s not like Dad took me as backup or anything…though I did have a disturbingly comprehensive knowledge of crime scene procedure for somebody in grade school.”

“Yeah, for me it was accounts.  I could quote the rates for stakeouts, interviews and undercover work – you know…how much Dad could possibly make for a job…Guess it’s come in handy now.”

“There’s an obvious joke there about hourly rates and prostitution…But _I’m_ much too classy for that kind of humour,” Stiles smirked.

“Sure,” Derek scoffed as he glanced at the remnants of cheesy powder on Stiles’ shirt and lap.  His lap…made up of lean muscular thighs.  Nope.  Not going there.  “So, where are you from again?”

Stiles’ eyes darted to Derek and then out the window.  “Beacon Hills.  Pretty small compared to L.A.  But we have a video store and _two_ diners…”

“A tourist mecca, then,” deadpanned Derek.  Stiles gave a small smile and took another sip of coffee.  “But Beacon Hills?...That sounds really familiar.  I don’t think I’ve been there though…” he trailed off.  It _did_ sound familiar.  But for the life of him, he couldn’t place where he’d heard it.  For some reason, Chris’ kitchen table kept coming to mind…but that didn’t make sense.

“Well, the video store recently separated the Crime/Thriller section into Crime _and_ Thriller.  I’m sure that must have made the papers here.”

“Yeah, _that_ must be it.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat and closed the thermos.  “Who do you think the mystery woman is?”  He asked as he jerked his chin in the direction of the motel room door that Peterson had entered a little over three hours ago.

Derek took a second to adjust to the change of topic.  “No idea.  Seems to fucking love hanging out in motel rooms.  I’ve never seen her go in or out.”

Stiles shot a glance over at him and smirked.  “Maybe she’s an Oompa Loompa.”

“What?” Derek said scornfully.

“You know.  ‘Nobody ever goes in, nobody ever comes out’.”  Off of Derek’s blank look, he continued, “Come on, man!  How can you have never seen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?!”

“I have shit to do,” Derek scowled.  He hated when people looked at him like he was an idiot.  Fuck, it was only a goddamn movie.

“But it’s a classic!”  Stiles leaned slightly closer to the driver’s side, oblivious to Derek’s annoyance.  “Every Thanksgiving, my mom would…” he trailed off and sat back up straight.  Derek noticed the animated look disappear from his eyes.  “I mean, I watched it a lot as a kid is all.  You should watch it.”

Well, _that_ didn’t finish abruptly…or weirdly.  Derek wasn’t stupid.  He’d kind of assumed the guy’s mother must have died.  He knew the tell-tale signs. 

There you go, Scott.  Found something in common.  Dead mothers.  What a joy.

“Here. Why don’t you take camera duty while I have some coffee?  Just like I showed you,” Derek said as he offered over the camera.

“Oh, you mean hitting that lumpy thing on top.  What’d you call it?  A baton?  How ever will I manage?  You might have to make a video tutorial for me,” Stiles sassed as he took the camera and passed over the thermos.

Derek’s hand, of course, landed on Stiles’ long fingers.  As he slowly pulled the thermos away from them, Derek felt the gentle slide of soft skin and the sprinkling of fine hairs on Stiles’ index finger.

Stiles eyes shot up as Derek’s darted away.

Suddenly, the flash of a camera illuminated the interior of the Camaro.  Derek snatched his hand away from Stiles’.  “Yeah, baby.  Work it!  Come on, Derek you’re never gonna get laid with moves like that.  Where’s the groping?”  Another flash.

Derek rubbed his eyes and scowled.  Fucking Matt.

“Found another poor sucker to hire you, Daehler?”

“All my clients are left _one hundred percent_ satisfied,” Matt said suggestively.  He leaned more heavily on the driver’s side door to peer through the window and focus on Stiles.  “If you’re looking for a job, come see me.”  Matt pointed to the self-promotional gaudy green ‘Mystery Chasers!’ shirt he was wearing.  “I mean…if you want a _real_ taste of what it takes to be a private eye in Los Angeles, of course.”

Stiles looked at him and smiled.  “You’re quite the asshole, aren’t ya?...Cookie?”  He offered up the half-empty bag.  Matt ignored him.

“I see that customer service skills still aren’t a huge priority over at Argent & Hale, huh Derek?”  Before Derek could reply, Stiles snapped his fingers and pointed at Matt.

“I knew I’d seen you before!”  Stiles began to sing, “’Mystery Chasers!  If you have a mystery, we’ll find a clue and solve it for you!’  Kudos on the conga-line of dancing Sherlock Holmes’ in your ad…” He looked at Derek, “Why don’t we have a song?”

“We do.  Do the job, get fucking paid,” Derek grumbled.

“Hale here’s more a fan of the ‘direct approach’,” Matt remarked to Stiles.  “Not really working out for you though is it?  Just had to hire my _eighth_ associate this week.  And what?  You’ve got…that guy.”

Fuck, Derek hated this creep.  Matt had come looking for a job a few years back and Chris had turned him down.  Thank god.

Now, the fuck had made it a habit to steal clients behind Derek’s back by offering a fractionally lower rate and then pulling the ‘Daehler Special’ – wait a week, do absolutely nothing, and then inform the unsuspecting client that there was nothing to find. 

Fucking leech. 

For Matt to actually be out on the streets, he must have hooked someone willing to pay a fortune for his ‘services’.

Derek snuck a glance at Stiles and was surprised by the look of utter hatred of his face.  There you go again, Scott.  Share a passionate hatred of Matt Daehler?  Check.

“Shouldn’t you be off earning some cash then to pay all of your ‘associates’? Or did you want some tips on how to _begin_ to be a competent P.I.?” Derek said, fighting off the urge to push open his door.  Seeing Matt go sprawling on the pavement would be satisfying – not mature – but satisfying nonetheless.

Sadly, Matt pushed away from the door and straightened the camera around his neck.  He seemed to focus on something or someone behind them for a second, but when Derek looked in his rear-view mirrors all he could see was the same drunk that had been laying on the pavement for the last two hours and an old guy going into a dingy dive bar.  Whatever.

Matt looked back at Derek.  “See you round, losers.  But remember – I’m a good guy.  When I force you guys out of business – which I will – come see me.  I’ll keep some jobs open for you.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he watched Matt walk down the street.  “What a fucking slimeball,” Stiles said, forcing a small smile out of Derek.

“Yeah, he’s a real…Camera, camera!” Derek said impatiently as he spied Peterson finally coming out of the motel room.  Stiles raised the camera and shot a few photos of Peterson as he closed the door, hopped in his car and drove away.

When the car disappeared, Derek took the camera and checked that Stiles had gotten the pictures.  “Good.  Looks like you’re not _totally_ incompetent then.”  Oh yeah, got to work on giving compliments.  That can wait for another day.

Stiles wasn’t phased by it, though, as he threw down the cookies and began to tap his hand on the dashboard.  “So how long do you think we’re gonna have to wait until ‘mystery lover’ comes out?”

“No idea,” Derek replied distractedly.  “There are crumbs all over this.”  He lifted up his shirt and began to wipe down the offending marks on his camera.

“So…uh…right,” Stiles began.  Derek’s shot an irritated look at him and watched as Stiles furiously rubbed a hand over his short hair and glance over to the motel.

Derek shook his head and went back to wiping down the camera.  “Fuck. Next time you are not…”

“You appreciate initiative, right?” Stiles interrupted.  Before Derek had a chance to respond, he’d jumped out of the car and jogged across the road.

“Fucking hell!” Derek swore as he threw the camera in the back seat and chased after the idiot.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Derek angrily whispered, grabbing Stiles’ arm and squeezing hard.

Before Derek could pull him away, the idiot raised his other hand and knocked on the door.  “Management!  There’s been a report of a possible toxic substance.  I need to ask you to evacuate,” Stiles said loudly without taking his eyes away from Derek’s angry glare.

“You are fucking done.”  Derek was beyond furious.  “I’m talking to Chris and you can just…”

Stiles pried Derek’s hand off of his arm and pushed him away.  “Shh!  I can’t hear any movement in there, dude.”

“Of course not.  Who the hell would buy that story?  Get back in the car.  You’ve pretty much blown any chance of her coming out _ever_.”

Stiles whirled around, his arms going wide.  “Honestly, Derek.  What have you got to lose?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Derek took an angry step forward, “…Our reputation as a professional agency…of being discrete!”  Fuck, angry whispering was annoying.  He wanted to shout in this guy’s face.

“I don’t think there’s anybody in there.  I don’t think there’s _ever_ been anybody in there.”

Derek glanced quickly at the door and then back to Stiles.  The neon blue light from the motel sign flashed overhead.  They stayed that way for a full minute – never breaking eye contact.

“Open it,” Derek finally said.  Stiles studied him a moment longer before he turned back to the door and let himself in.

Derek waited for a few seconds.  No screams of ‘intruder’ or the sound of Stiles been hit over the head…the little shit was right.  Which totally wasn’t the point.

He walked into the motel room just as Stiles came out of the bathroom.  “That’s the only entrance and there’s definitely nobody in here…so what do you think?  Maybe the guy just wants time away from his wife.”

Derek didn’t say a word as he gave a cursory glance around the room.  There was definitely nowhere for anybody to be hiding.  Standard queen-sized bed – low to the ground.  He walked into the bathroom. One small window, with bars.  He’d seen enough.

“Let’s go,” Derek said tersely, stalking past Stiles and back out into the parking lot.

 

*****

 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Mrs. Peterson.  There’s nobody else in your husband’s life.”  Derek wearily rubbed his eyes.  He was fucking sick of Sunday night stakeouts.  Thank god they were over.  Not to mention the fact that any sleep he would’ve gotten was taken away because he just couldn’t stop fuming at what Stiles had done.

“I know what you’re trying to imply.  What?  I’m the evil wife that he needs to hide away from every week.  George would not do that.  It doesn’t make sense.  He never spent Sunday night with me anyway;  he was always down in the garage working on his god-awful model airplanes.”

Derek had realized that fact last night, between his internal rants about a certain employee.  But if Peterson wasn’t talking time out from dealing with his wife, Derek wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.

“Well, short of going to the source…” Why this woman couldn’t communicate with her fucking husband was beyond him, “…the only thing we can do is increase the surveillance in the motel room itself.”  Please say no, please say no.  Derek wanted this case to be fucking over.

“I want that.  I assume it’s going to cost me more,” Mrs. Peterson said, condescendingly.  Derek snapped the pencil that he had been fidgeting with.  He was getting to the point that _he’d_ hire a motel room far away from this woman just to hide.

“Installing camera surveillance would mean purchasing our Silver Plus Package.  It’s an extra $800 and you retain all copies of any footage that we get.”

“Whatever.  Just bill my credit card, and I want your expense account _itemized_.  Who the hell knows what you’re trying to bilk me for?”  With that lovely parting shot, she hung up.  Derek placed the phone down and took a few calming breaths.  Why was everybody in his life determined to give him high blood pressure?

Derek logged on to the server, entered in the updated accounts information for the Peterson case, logged off and then pushed back from the desk so he had room to spin on his chair while he thought.

He probably should be thinking about the case but all he could think about was Stiles.  And not in a sexy way this time.  Scott would be proud of him.

If he was honest, Derek was impressed by the guy’s self-motivation and deductions.  But Stiles had no clue what he was walking into in that motel room.  Unpredictability was a good trait for a P.I., but without experience it was just fucking risky.

The drive back from the motel had been mostly silent, although Derek felt Stiles’ eyes on him more than a few times.  It had been safer not to say anything and just grip the steering wheel tighter every time he felt a rant threatening to break free. 

The things he did for his brother.

Derek twisted in his chair a few times before standing up and throwing the broken pencil down on his desk.  What was he doing?  He was technically the boss…He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t sit down with Stiles and tell him – in no uncertain terms – that he wasn’t ever to fucking disobey him again.

Just as Derek reached his office door, he was stopped short by Scott’s raised voice.

“I don’t care, Stiles!”

“You should.  She’ll just steal your money and tell you some bullshit that won’t help you at all!” What the fuck was going on?

“I just don’t know, I need to do _something_!…Stiles, you said yourself that you-“ Scott stopped abruptly when his brother entered the office.  Derek took in the scene of Stiles pacing in front of a frustrated-looking Scott.  “Derek!  I thought you had that insurance fraud thing.”

“No, Chris took it,” Derek answered.  “What the fuck is going on in here?”  Both guys looked at him like has speaking another language.  Now, Derek definitely knew something was up.

“I was just-“ Scott began.

“Maybe I should…” Stiles said as he pointed at the door.  Now they were just annoying him.

“None of you are moving.  Scott, what’s he talking about?  Who’s stealing your money?”  Derek wanted to add on ‘Why does Stiles know about it first?’, but that sounded a little too childish even in his own head.

Scott shot a look at Stiles before turning back to his brother.  “Just sit down and I’ll tell you.  Unclench your fists…It’s nothing like what you’re thinking.”  Derek hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it, but the idea of somebody taking advantage of his brother – after everything he’d been through – made him want to punch somebody.  Where was Matt when he actually needed him?

Derek dropped into one of the visitor’s chairs while Stiles perched himself on top of the desk.  One of his post-it notes fluttered to the floor.

“Right…See the thing is…” Scott stopped and looked down at the floor.  Derek shot a questioning look at Stiles and then focused back on his brother.  He was now officially worried.

“If you’re caught up in something, I’m sure we can fix it.  I mean, Jacks-“

“No, no.  It’s not anything like that.  I just…I made an appointment to see a psychic,” Scott rushed out and then waited nervously for Derek’s reaction.

Allison.  Damn it.  Scott had been doing so well with moving forward, but obviously Derek had missed a few things.  Like his brother still in enough pain that he’s wiling to turn to a fucking psychic.  Derek supposed he was a little hypocritical – considering his weekly trips to see Finstock – but a psychic?  He hated to admit it, but he definitely agreed with Stiles on this.

“What do you think this psychic can do for you?” Derek asked as carefully and diplomatically as possible.  But, apparently, Stiles didn’t get that memo.

“Rip him off and give him some crap about how Allison’s in a better place and will always be with him.  Or she’ll give him some bullshit information that leads to nothing but pain and wasted fucking time,” Stiles spat out.

Scott didn’t seem fazed by his friend’s rant, ignoring it to answer Derek’s question.  “I don’t have to explain it to you.  I just want to do this…and I’m going to.”

And there was the determined look of Scott’s that pretty much meant that nothing was going to change his mind.  Double fuck.

“Fine.  But I’m going with you,” Derek said.

“Actually, Stiles is…” Scott started.  Was he kidding Derek with this?  Stiles?

“I’m coming with you, Scott.  I’m not going to try and change your mind – even if I don’t agree with this – but you’re sure as hell not going without me.”

Scott rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back further in his chair.  “Yeah.  That’s exactly what Stiles said…well except for the trying to change my mind part.”

“Which I still have two days to do.  Expect charts, my friend…And bar graphs.  Lots of them,” Stiles said as he hopped off of the desk and sat back down in his chair. “I’ll go with you, but I’m not gonna stop calling you an idiot.  Idiot.”

“Good luck with that,” Scott replied.

Derek frowned.  How was it that Stiles could say all the stuff he wanted to, and Scott just let it go?  That would _definitely_ not happen if it was him who talked to Scott like that.  There’d be a huge fight and Scott would probably not talk to him for weeks…or disappear like he did after Allison’s death.  Derek couldn’t go through that again.

So, if Stiles couldn’t convince his brother otherwise, they were going to go and see a fucking psychic.

 

*****

 

There was no convincing him.

Wednesday had rolled around, and Scott had quietly told the two of them that he was still going to see the psychic…or bullshit artist if you asked Stiles.  And that’s why they were standing on the sidewalk in front of Mystic Morrell’s.

According to her sign, Mystic Morrell was a ‘Seer of All, Master of Mystery’…and apparently accepted American Express.  Judging by his look, Stiles was thinking the same thing – this psychic was a crank.

Scott ignored the two of them and pushed open the door.  There was a tinkling of bells and then Derek was hit with a whiff of some pretty strong-smelling incense.  Stiles looked at him, rolled his eyes and followed Scott into the shop.  Looks like they were doing this.

Derek walked in and stood awkwardly beside Stiles while Scott waited at the counter.  “I still can’t believe he’s doing this.  You know, _you_ could’ve done more to stop him.  It’s pretty obvious you like this about as much as I do,” Stlles leaned in and whispered.

Derek rolled his eyes even though, inwardly, he was agreeing with the guy.  Stiles didn’t need to know that.  “You didn’t have to come.  In fact, consider this your lunch break, I’m not paying you to-“ He was interrupted by the entrance of Mystic Morrell herself.

She was a lot younger than Derek had expected.  And beautiful.  He’d expected hairy moles or warts or _something_.

“Hello, Scott. I hope I can help find some answers for you today.”

Derek felt Stiles tense up beside him.  He could understand.  That ‘soothing’ tone of voice of hers already made his skin crawl.

“I’m not really hoping for much,” Scott said and then turned to look at Stiles and Derek.  “I hope you don’t mind; I brought my brother and friend with me.  It’s not a problem is it?”

Mystic Morrell took a cursory glance at the two of them and focused back on Scott.  “They care very much for you.  Those kind of feelings can help when trying to establish a connection with the eternal place…Even the misplaced negativity,” she said as she looked at Stiles.

“What about when it’s not misplaced?  Is everything still open and connected then?” Stiles responded sarcastically.

“Stiles, stop it,” Scott said.

“Your friend is afraid I’m going to cause you pain…So is your brother.  But I can help you find some answers to the questions that have been plaguing you.”  Derek hated this woman.  But he grabbed Stiles’ shirt-sleeve and gave him a warning glare to stop him from talking.  They were supposed to be here for Scott.  Thankfully, Stiles seemed to translate the look correctly as he threw up his arms in defeat.

“Through here, please.  Take a seat,” Mystic Morrell said as she walked into a back-room.  Scott shot them a ‘behave’ look before following her.

As they sat down at the small round table, the psychic began lighting the candles that were all over the room.

“I suppose spirits don’t have to stick to a little thing called a _fire code_ , huh?” Stiles muttered.  Derek gave a small smile that he quickly dropped when Scott glared at them again.

Morrell ignored Stiles’ comment and settled into her chair.  “Did you bring something of Allison’s?”

Scott glanced at Derek nervously as he reached into his pocket, pulled out something and put it into the psychic’s waiting hands.

Their mother’s ring.  Allison’s ring.  The last time Derek had seen it was _that_ day.  He resisted the urge to look at Scott.

Morrell closed her eyes and began to hum.  Stiles raised his eyebrows but thankfully didn’t say anything.  “She’s close.  I can feel her.  She’s reaching for you.”  This time Derek couldn’t stop the look to his brother.  Scott was staring ramrod-straight in his chair, fixed only on Morrell.  “But there’s something blocking her.  It’s strong…Hunter.”

Suddenly, the psychic dropped the ring and it bounced off of the table and onto the floor.  Derek and Stiles looked at each other confused, as Morrell began to moan in pain.

“No, no, no.  Who-?...You!”  Her eyes shot open and glared at Stiles.  “You!  You bring death to all around you!”  Stiles went to stand up, but Morrell’s hand shot out and gripped his forearm.  Derek could see her nails begin to puncture the guy’s skin.  Both he and Scott stood up.  “ _You_ should have died, not _her_.  Your happiness means death.”

Stiles ripped his arm away and shakily stalked out of the room.  “What the fuck are you pulling here, lady?  Is this how you make your money?” Derek asked angrily, while Scott quickly picked up Allison’s ring.

“I…I’m so sorry.  I’ve never…That’s never happened.  I’m sorry.  You should all leave now.  Please leave,” Morrell said.

Derek grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him out of that crackpot’s store.  He knew this was a bad idea.  But he’d never expected such cruelty.  The absolutely broken look he’d seen on Stiles’ face made Derek’s whole body shake in anger.  How dare somebody say things like that to another person?!

The brothers saw Stiles hunched over against the Camaro and Scott pulled his arm out of Derek’s grip to rush over to him.  “Stiles!  I’m so, so sorry.  Are you okay?”

Stiles looked up and nodded his head.  “All good, dude.  Just freaked out a little.  Nothing to worry about,” he finished as he straightened up and gave Scott a pat on the shoulder.

Derek wasn’t buying it for a second. 

He made a mental note to get Jackson to run a fine-tooth comb through that fucking Morrell woman’s financials.  Maybe he could get her arrested on some kind of tax evasion.  Something.

 

*****

 

_Flashback_

_8 years before Stiles first day_

 

“…We need to deal with the customs problem before we even get into that,” said the voice coming out of the radio.  Luka Ratiglia, Chris guessed.  Third in line to the entire Ratiglia family criminal empire.  This was a _really_ bad idea.

Chris and Michael were sitting in a car two blocks away from the bar that the Ratiglia family often used as a base of operations.  A bar that, almost impossibly, Michael had managed to bug.

It was a rare case that had both partners of Argent & Hale out on a stakeout, but when Chris had learned that the missing person’s case Michael had been working on was somehow connected to one of the largest drug traffickers in L.A. – well he couldn’t let his partner do this alone.

Chris snuck a glance at Michael’s face.  It had been just over two years.  Two years since everything went down in Beacon Hills…with the Stilinskis.  Two years since Michael had promised that he was done with the death-wish quest he’d been on since his wife died.  God knows Derek and Scott didn’t need to lose another parent to this bullshit.

“Stop it,” Michael said gruffly, derailing Chris’ train of thought.  “I know that face.  You’re reading too much into things again.”

“Then let’s call Finstock.  Let the police deal with this.  Prove to me this isn’t you on a danger kick,” Chris said, even though he knew it was useless.  Michael was the most stubborn bastard he knew.

“This is _our_ case and I’m not-“ Suddenly, Michael’s eyes shot up.  “Son of a bitch!”  Before Chris knew it, his partner was out of the car and running down the street.

He looked away for a second – only a second - as he scrambled out of the car to follow, and when he looked back…Michael was gone.  What the fuck?

Chris jogged up the street, looking left and right.  There wasn’t any time for Michael to disappear so quickly.  Suddenly, Chris spied a boot sticking out from an alleyway.  Brown leather…the only kind Michael ever wore.

No, no, no.

Chris sped up until he reached the alley.  He held his breath, looked down and froze as he took in the blood seeping from a hole in Michael’s chest.  But he was breathing.  Thank god he was breathing.

Time seemed to speed up again and Chris kneeled down to put pressure on the wound. “Just can’t leave you alone for a second,” he said shakily while his eyes furiously searched Michael’s body for any other wounds.

“You might have had a point about the danger thing,” Michael breathed out painfully.

“Shut up, you asshole.  Let me just call-“ Chris went to pull his hands away, but Michael reached up to grip them hard.

“No, you need to call Deaton.  He needs to protect the boys.”

“What?  No!  This can’t be-“ he trailed off as Michael’s hand slipped down to the ground and Chris felt his heart stop beating.  “Don’t you even think about dying, you fucker!”  He said frantically, beginning chest compressions.  But they did nothing but cause more blood to pour out of Michael’s wound.

He was gone.

Chris’ chest constricted tightly as he hunched protectively over his fallen friend, not caring that he was going to be covered in the man’s blood.

This cannot be happening again.

 


End file.
